Page 293 of Immune

It’s something tighter.

It’s something that bleeds honesty as well as she bleeds pain, fear, and distrust.

FORTY-ONE

KAITO

Dakota takes one step toward me but I don’t move. Then she takes another, but I keep my feet firmly planted where they are. When she stops next, she’s close enough that I can smell her under the blood and water and fear.

Wild honey. Rain. Faint now, but still there.

“You really won’t touch me unless I ask?”

“No.”

“That must be killing you,” she mutters.

My reply is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “You have no idea.”

Her mouth twitches, only a little. Then she lifts her hand and presses a single finger to the middle of my chest. Only the one. It shouldn’t feel like a knife, but it kind of does.

“Your heart is beating pretty fast,” she comments quietly.

“Mhm,” I agree.

“You look so calm, though.”

“I’m not.”

“Huh,” she breathes, then her finger drags down an inch.

My control tightens and she watches my face. Of course she does, because she’s looking for the cracks. The monster. The proof that wanting turns people into cages.

So I let her see the want. Not all of it, but enough, and her pupils blow out almost instantly.

“Take your shirt off,” she commands roughly.

It’s gone a moment later, not rushed or showy. I just pull it over my head and drop it next to the weapons. The movement tugs at the stitches along my side, and it catches Dakota’s eyes immediately.

“You’re still hurt.”

“Looks that way.”

“You should have reminded me,” she grumbles, eyeing my side like it’s done her a personal injustice.

“You’ve had enough on your plate,” I tell her, and her mouth tightens like she hates that answer.

That’s okay. She should hate it.

Her eyes roam over me and I stand perfectly still under her perusal. I let her look and I let her choose.

Dakota only looks for a handful of seconds before she steps closer and puts her palm flat against my stomach. The touch is cool from the sink, and I hold my breath. I don’t breathe for even a second.

“You’ve stopped breathing,” she points out, her lips tipping.

“I did notice,” I tell her, my breath knocking loose with the words.

She looks at my chest again, and whatever joke she might have blurted dies before it can reach her mouth. Her fingers slide higher, over my ribs, to the scars she’s seen before but never touched like this.